


a king with no crown

by kazahaya0



Category: Inazuma Eleven GO
Genre: Alcohol, Drunk Sex, Light Manipulation, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kazahaya0/pseuds/kazahaya0
Summary: "See how much he likes you? Don’t you want him, Gouenji-kun?”After the end of Holy Road, a late night dinner between old friends leads to something else.
Relationships: Fubuki Shirou/Gouenji Shuuya, Fubuki Shirou/Someoka Ryuugo, Someoka Ryuugo/Gouenji Shuuya, Someoka Ryuugo/Gouenji Shuuya/Fubuki Shirou
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	a king with no crown

Ishido Shuuji is no one, Ishido Shuuji is no more.

Gouenji repeats these statements like a prayer over and over in the backseat of his limousine on the way to the Hotel.

*

  
  
It’s been hot lately and the heat wave makes the silk of his shirt stick to his skin. He is reminded of his days in Okinawa, training under the scorching summer sun. But the city has a mushy quality to its summer; hot, humid air sticking to his skin and hair like syrup. He is eternally pleased by the cool artificial air inside every possible building he gets into.

They arrive at the entrance and Toramaru opens up the door for him with one gloved hand, the heat wave greeting him again outside the car. Gouenji thanks his driver, one last time.

“I’ll pick you up later, boss. What time?”

Gouenji shakes his head.

“No need. You don’t work for me anymore Toramaru. Get the car back to headquarters and they’ll see to it.”

He extends his hand to him cordially and Toramaru takes it, shakes it twice firmly.

“T’was an honor.”

He drives off and Gouenji is ready to shed more of his skin as he enters the lobby.

Among carts of dark luggage and people rushing in and out, he sees someone who stands out. A man in a denim jacket pacing awkwardly, until he sits down on one of the lobby couches.

“Hello. Have you been waiting long?”

Fubuki Shirou doesn’t get up when he sees him but he grins, “Yes, I have, your _Highness_.”

Gouenji winces at the word.

“We had to run over some last minute things at the office, it’s been troubling. I texted you and Someoka.”

“I heard. Even with Kidou-kun being all secretive, Endou-kun isn’t exactly discreet. Neither are the news online…”

“Yes, well,” Gouenji is still standing, feeling awkward as if under fire. But these reactions have become normal in the past few days, with the whole soccer scandal. His face has been plastered all over the typical internet tabloids. “There will be no more emperors, the council is being discharged. I was offered something else.”

Fubuki sighs and gets up finally, “Of course you were, Gouenji-kun.”

“I chose to meet you both today because I will be taking a few weeks off soon.”

“Okay.”

Fubuki’s eyes are nebulous with something he wants to say, but instead he smirks at Gouenji and he finds himself smirking back. It’s not a kind smile, but Gouenji is after forgiveness tonight.  
  


  
*  
  
  


The restaurant is right inside the hotel and famous on its own, golden stars to prove it outside.

Gouenji has to admit it, after a few times out in many of these places, all food and drink just tastes similar. It was never the point of his Fifth Sector meetings anyway, not when they so often ended with him on his knees despite his status as the one others bowed down to. Soccer was the pretext, everything else was money and power.

The waiter picks up the ‘reserved’ sign off the table with an elegant hand and promises to be back in a minute. Still no news from Someoka.

“Is that a new suit? Fifth Sector really paid you nicely.”

Gouenji grits his teeth. He doesn’t want this to be awkward.

“I’m done with it. Can we talk about something else before dinner?”

“No problem, Gouenji-kun.”

Fubuki grins and takes off his roughed up jacket, a distressed thing that looks too hot for the season. Underneath, a battered up old band t-shirt. Gouenji can’t help but to notice the stark difference between both of them, or between Fubuki and this place. The low light doesn’t flatter it either, it’s unbefitting.

Fubuki has become the kind of person to wear jeans and an old shirt to any kind of occasion, from walking around town to a dinner between old friends at such a restaurant - Someoka had been kind enough to organize the whole thing and book a table for them.

And Gouenji frowns to himself as he wonders why he notices his old team mate’s clothing choices, or why such things bother him at all. Gouenji’s own pristine cream shirt revealing the tiniest sliver of gold and precious stone, his own hair fixed and combed and his clothes ironed; they clash.

When did he start caring about this? And why? But he does and he wishes Fubuki had had the decency to wear a plain, white office shirt to this thing. He knows Someoka has gotten him one for Christmas a few years ago. Fubuki could have at least combed his hair. Gouenji also knows he must own a hairbrush somewhere in his house. But his own silent judging doesn’t seem to materialize it and Fubuki is still blissfully unaware, as he scrolls and types on his phone.

“Sorry, I’m just texting Someoka-kun.”

“No problem at all, we can wait.”

Gouenji knows his Fifth Sector persona isn’t completely dead yet, which is why he counts on two old friends to help him with that. He is sure he picked up a thing or two amidst his acting that became real, almost too real. He also knows some things will stay and become part of him, despite his double acting. The perks were good, very good. And he isn’t quite sure he wants to get rid of his blue highlights yet.

“Where did he say he was?”

Fubuki doesn’t take his eyes off his phone.

“He is coming; he went out to fix us a room.”

“A room? You’re staying?”

“Yes, we are.”

Now Fubuki’s eyes are back on his, as he puts his phone away in the front pocket of his jeans. In this light, he can’t tell if his eyes are grey, green or blue.

He can’t tell the glint in Fubuki’s glare either, he only ever got so much of his way of double speaking, even though he had so much of it at Fifth Sector.  
  
Fubuki moves in his chair, side eyes the white wine bottle left in the center of the table, looks at Gouenji again, a different question in his eyes this time. And Gouenji smiles.

“Go ahead.”

They feel a rustle and bustle behind them and Someoka Ryuugo barges in, quickly paced in a white suit and pink shirt, a pair of designer glasses dangling on his open collar, two buttons down.

“Hey, Gouenji! Good to see you!” he breathes in and out, always in a state of surprise when he sees him lately, as if he didn’t expect him to actually show up. “You really came! That’s great. Sorry I was getting stuff fixed for later, thought we might want privacy later?”

“For talking.”

“Yeah, for talking, I mean, Fifth Sector and all?”, and then in a whisper, “That’s all confidential, right? Shouldn’t even be saying these words out loud. Plus, I can get us some drinks,” he winks at him and lays a hand on the only free chair, sitting down.

Someoka takes off his jacket. His rollex shines and the pits of his shirt are dark pink with perspiration. “Is the AC on? I swear it’s fifty degrees everywhere this summer. Even indoors.”

“Someoka-kun you’re always so sweaty...”

Fubuki says it like a complaint, smiling lazily and filling his own glass. “Should we order? I never come to these places. Please tell me there’s something affordable.”

Someoka frowns, “I can pay for your tab, I told you.”

“Really? I don’t want to be too much… I can pay you later Someoka-kun, I can’t spend a lot this month…”

“Pay me later then? I don’t mind.”

“We can split.” Gouenji says, concluding the argument, and then opens up his menu.

*

  
Later, at the bar, there is a piano and a live jazz band playing and nobody is paying attention to them, as all the conversations drown out the sound. Someoka gets them drinks, as a treat for arriving late. Fubuki accepts it for the both of them.

  
“Fubuki, you didn’t need to flirt with the waitress.”

“What? She was cute… she kept refilling my glass too.”

“Because we were paying for it!”

They laugh and share and the drinks follow one another, Gouenji becoming light headed easily, his skull feeling like it’s full of soft cotton. It feels like the old days.

“You’re quieter when you’re drunk.”

It’s Fubuki’s cold smirk again, cutting through everything else they had been saying until then. He is holding a beer now, a can. He wonders where he got that when they only serve draft here.

Someoka nods over his martini, which he holds stylishly. Gouenji remembers how Someoka enjoyed action movies when they were younger. The ones with spies. There was always a martini glass with an olive in those, it suited him. It had been, however, Gouenji the one to fall into a spy movie plot and not Someoka. His face feels hot and cold at the same time, and he feels suddenly dizzy.

“Are you okay, Gouenji?”, Someoka asks concerned.

“Yes, I… can we go upstairs now? It’s just a headache.”

He is exhausted.

  
*

  
  
“I’m alright. I just needed to get out of there.”  
  
“Don’t worry, Gouenji-kun, we won’t tell anyone you’re a lightweight.”

  
The elevator’s golden doors close with a jingle and the buttons light up as they ascend. They’re alone, so Fubuki drops his head from Someoka’s chest to Gouenji’s shoulder and rests there, almost affectionately. He is smiling.

“You know… you got me fired.”

The words feel like ice, it’s sobering.

“I’ll—take care of it.”

“Okay...” he pouts.  
  
Gouenji runs a hand softly through Fubuki’s hair. It’s slightly damp at its roots but soft. He wonders if there really is something off with the AC in this place.  
  


*

  
  
Someoka didn’t get them a room, he got them a suite. Big windows overshadowing the city, all kinds of light and color from down below, clouds and muted buildings in the horizon. Gouenji feels better already, being out of the crowded bar into a more private place.

There is a desk and a huge bed, with dark silky sheets and fluffy pillows. They take their jackets off and sit on the couch by the small glass table. Sitting on it is a basket with two bottles of wine and other foreign looking confectionary, expensive looking packages in muted colors and cursive letters.

“Gifts! I brought these from Italy.”

Someoka says it proudly and sits on the white couch between Fubuki and Gouenji. He pours the three of them each another glass, when he suddenly remembers something and slaps his leg.

“Ow! Gouenji, I’m sorry, do you want something for your headache? I have some-”

“The wine will do fine, Someoka. I’m better already, really. I just needed to get out.”

Someoka fixes him a glass of water and a small painkiller just in case.

He didn’t lie, he really feels better. But the oxygen in the room seems strained all the same, clogged up, even though his tongue runs as loose as his shirt. Someoka, being away in Italy, missed a lot of what went down at the beginning, middle and end of Holy Road. It’s not a topic you can talk over e-mail or on the phone. Fubuki watches as Gouenji describes it all, one hand lazily draped around Someoka’s shoulders. His denim jacket is tucked away.

  
Soon, the Italian wine is gone too.

There is too much to unpack, but it’s tiring and upsetting and the drink is good, flowing through their veins, their cheeks pink from alcohol.

  
Fubuki stretches and yawns. He throws a lazy look at Someoka and starts to kiss him on the cheek.

“I think it’s time, don’t you?”

Someoka seems a bit uncomfortable at the display, mostly because they have company. Perhaps Gouenji isn’t as drunk as he thought he was, but something in his stomach flips.

“Do you want to watch, Gouenji-kun? Tonight only.”

Someoka’s face is red with embarrassment.

“Fu-Fubuki. Stop it, you’re drunk.”

“Hmhm… Someoka-kun…” he nibbles at his earlobe again. Gouenji stays very, very still.

No one moves for a moment but Fubuki. Gouenji sets his empty glass on the glass table.

“You know, Someoka-kun used to be madly in love with you.” Fubuki says and it hits like a bomb in the room, no one else speaks for a moment. Someoka looks down, at his shoes, as old memories go through his head and leave him flushed.

“Come on, Fubuki, that’s enough.”

“Why? This is your dream chance, Someoka-kun.” He turns back to Gouenji, “Did you know this?”

Gouenji frowns, he didn’t know, doesn’t recall if he ever did.

“I didn’t.”

Someoka looks defeated, embarrassed and red-faced. His hair is tousled and his shirt is open but his eyes are bittersweet, and Gouenji realizes how attractive his old friend really is, looks him fully for the first time that night. 

“It… was a long time ago.”

Gouenji feels that familiar spark again.  
  
Fubuki gets up and takes a few steps in Gouenji’s direction, and his glare is wolfish, about to pounce on a prey.

“You know...”, he puts an arm around his shoulder, plays with his necklace with the other hand, pulling Gouenji closer to him. After all the fancy wine they drank, he just reeks of beer, “I used to be so jealous of you, Gouenji-kun.”

And for the millionth time that night, Gouenji can’t tell what he sees in his eyes then, a mix of lust and resentment before Fubuki falls on his lap and kisses him full on the mouth. He feels him hardening inside his jeans, rubbing against his pants and Gouenji doesn’t know why, but he lets him in, accepting his kiss.

Everything becomes blurry, but Gouenji’s resolve is lucid.

“I…” is all Gouenji manages to say. “Someoka-“

“Someoka-kun, you too.” Fubuki gets off Gouenji’s lap and starts unbuttoning Someoka’s pink shirt. “Me and Gouenji-kun have something for you.”

Someoka’s face is shadowed with doubt and arousal, and Gouenji gets up and on his knees in front of him. Once he starts, it’s easy. Someoka’s cock is hard too and he sighs gently as Gouenji’s tongue runs up and down its length. Fubuki keeps giving him butterfly kisses.

“Don’t let him cum yet, Gouenji-kun.”

Fubuki’s voice is unusually stern and Gouenji obeys. He teases Someoka with his mouth and Someoka runs through his hair as he moans into Fubuki’s mouth.

“I think we should move somewhere else.” Fubuki says.

Gouenji undresses and gets down on the silk sheets. Someoka’s pink shirt is finally fully gone, on the floor, and his body towers over him. His chest is chiseled and hot and he breathes deeply. His body is the body of a pro athlete, Gouenji notes with some fondness. He remembers with some regret his years playing abroad, before Fifth Sector came along. He remembers running on the fields with the both of them, when the world was carefree and full of promises.

When he speaks next, he doesn’t know why he does it.

“Someoka, I’m so sorry for everything.”

“I’ve- wanted you.” Someoka mutters, not exactly in response, biting his lip, “For so long.”

“Say it louder, Someoka-kun, I don’t think Gouenji-kun heard you...” Fubuki steps on the bed and Gouenji feels his chest sticking against his back, his pale arms tying them both in an embrace. “Look at you, you’re so sweet, Gouenji-kun.”  
  
Gouenji groans. He feels inexperienced again, it takes him back from green soccer fields to smelly locker rooms and old dorms. He knows where he is by the soft touch of the sheets and Fubuki’s moist hard-on against his back. He knows the city is clammy and bursting outside in the summer heat, even at midnight, and he feels a fire deep in his stomach he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Fubuki’s hands are all over him.

“We are giving you what you need, right, Someoka-kun?”

Gouenji moans, “Don’t stop.”

Someoka’s hand strokes on him feel too tentative, too soft, too much like a breeze. Gouenji wants Someoka to set him on fire, to let him burn. “Just keep touching me.”  
  
“I will hold him down.” Fubuki says to Someoka before purring in Gouenji’s ear, just behind the blue stone of his earring, “I will hold you tightly. See how much he likes you? Don’t you want him, Gouenji-kun?”

He hears the sound of a zip locker opening and closing, and Fubuki throws a tiny flask of lube into Someoka’s hands.

Someoka takes a moment to grasp it all, being given this gift he never thought he would be gifted with. He is pensive and circles Gouenji’s mouth and lips with his hand and thumb. But Gouenji doesn’t want pensive, he wants release and urgency. He sucks Someoka’s finger and Someoka lowers himself, all muscle and arousal.

All Gouenji can feel is the fire inside him as Someoka thrusts into him, bringing him oblivion, in spasms of pleasure and pain from Fubuki’s grip into him. Someoka lets go and grabs at Gouenji’s leg so he doesn’t lose his pace. And Someoka finally crosses the final threshold, the last thing to be forbidden to him, and he kisses Gouenji.

But he kisses him unlike he fucks him, because he is kind and the kiss is warm and forgiving.

Hours later, Gouenji would wonder why he really never gave Someoka a chance, why he never saw him that way. It wouldn’t have worked perhaps, it wasn’t destined. That’s why it didn’t happen back then, but the fantasy of the ‘what if’ is all he needs now; this alternate reality in which Ishido Shuuji never existed.

An alternate reality in which he returned all of – he now sees it for what they were - Someoka’s hesitant texts during college. Perhaps he can replace the faceless guys in the locker rooms with Someoka’s awkward and kind smile. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done what he did to Fubuki’s career purely out of spite for being closer to Someoka than he ever could be. Perhaps that was the reason why he did it to Fubuki. He doesn’t know. Perhaps, if, maybe.

And Someoka kisses him gently in his fantasy and fucks him harshly as well just as he does now. And Fubuki doesn’t come into the picture because no one else needs to be there to console Someoka and to take his love. That will be him alone.

Perhaps, if, maybe.

Someoka keeps rutting against Gouenji and Fubuki keeps holding him down from behind. Gouenji’s back rubs against Fubuki’s cock and he whispers something in his ear, something vague and muted, and Gouenji undoes himself. He comes back to earth in small intervals, hasty breathing, hair sticky. Someoka grunts, and sweat drips down his face. Fubuki is long gone, entangled behind Gouenji and stroking his hair.

“Shhh, Gouenji-kun, what a good boy,” Fubuki hums playfully and kisses the top of his head fondly.

Gouenji realizes, in afterglow, they’re three people as together as they are apart, hurt and lonely. Tonight, they can be lovers, in some shape or form at least.

  
*

As the minutes drag on and chests stop weaving so hard, fingers unlace themselves and sheets drop on the floor. Someoka politely apologizes and locks himself in the bathroom, the sound of a shower running soon following.

Fubuki lays like a cat, sideways on the bed and taking up as much space as possible, smoking a cigarette.

“Want one?”

“I don’t smoke.”

But he takes it anyway. He feels funny inside; like he hasn’t in a while. He cleans at his stomach with a tissue and realizes he can still feel Someoka inside him.

“Someoka-kun is the biggest one I’ve ever had too.” Fubuki says as if reading his mind “I’ve always loved the feeling afterwards. He is like a big teddy bear though, so sweet. You can’t help but love it even if it stings sometimes.”

“It doesn’t sting for me.”

“No? Oh well.” Fubuki puts out the cigarette in a small ashtray.

“No, I just feel, like I haven’t in a while. Odd.”

“Good?”

“That too.”

Someoka gets out of the shower. He is wearing a modest towel around his waist as if he hadn’t been deep inside Gouenji just half an hour ago. His face is red from the fog or from what they did. Gouenji finds himself eyeing him up again.

Fubuki doesn’t seem so bothered though. He is staring at Gouenji’s hair, playing with it. He holds a blue lock between his fingers. “Uh,” he chuckles. And Gouenji doesn’t know what to make of that comment.

“Was this Fifth Sector too? Or just you, Gouenji-kun?” Fubuki asks.

“I like my hair. What about it?”

The question is honest but Fubuki doesn’t answer. He just gets up and hits the shower.  
  


*

Someoka starts getting dressed, tiny droplets of water falling from his body to the dark blue carpet. It’s just the two of them now, and he is safe from Fubuki’s glares and strange double entendres. Someoka will be true to him, he always has been.

“Is it really true?” Gouenji starts, and bites his lip at what he is about to unearth. “Did you like me?”

“Yes, but... like I said, it was a while ago.” Someoka’s ears turn red and he pulls a t-shirt over his torso.

Gouenji utters each word carefully, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Someoka comes closer, sitting on one side of the bed.

“Would it have made any difference?”

No, it wouldn’t have. Gouenji would still pine for what he didn’t know he lacked and fix that however he saw fit. Fubuki would still be there to comfort Someoka.

Gouenji’s pendant shines blue in his chest, he grabs it and puts it away.

When Fubuki gets out of the shower, he plants a kiss on Gouenji’s mouth. He is surprised Fubuki smells clean actually, of standard hotel body wash and minty tooth paste. Homely, but his lips feel chapped. He throws his hands in the air.

“Good night kiss, Someoka-kun!”

Someoka groans in annoyance.

*

Gouenji will shower too, at some point during the night. Because the next day he will wake up spotless and refreshed, from a deep sleep in the midst of fluffy hotel pillows. He will remember a sturdy body helping him up. The phantom touch of hands massaging at his hair, his face, and of soothing water running down his body.

But right now, he is so tired, all he can do is curl into the sheets.

“There is German beer in the minibar!” is the last thing Gouenji hears Fubuki saying before giving in to sleep.  
  


*

The headache is back the next morning. This time he takes something for it, the tiny pill Someoka left him, still at the top of the glass table.

Someoka wakes at an ungodly hour and leaves for some scheduled morning training. He kisses them both and lets them sleep the morning away. Fubuki hits Gouenji’s phone snooze button about five times before turning off his phone altogether.

Later, Gouenji gets himself and Fubuki breakfast at a cute coffee shop down the street. It’s all just appearances however, the coffee is too sugary and the English style pancakes too flakey for his tastes. Fubuki devours everything without complaint.

“You know, Someoka-kun really did love you. You broke his heart a few times.”

“I only left you guys once.”

“No, you’ve left him and the team quite a few times. You come and go as you please. He always forgives you though. It’s me who resents it.” He says quietly, between pieces and bits of pancake. But in a good mood, he adds “And he never expected this to ever happen, not in a million years.”, And chuckles.

“I’m sorry. I will fix things, Fubuki, I promise.”

“And I will be thankful for that, Gouenji-kun.”

Gouenji doesn’t say anything back, he deserves it. But he wishes people would stop giving him flack for things he did in the past. It’s not like he isn’t punishing himself enough now.

Fubuki leaves for the bus and Gouenji waves him goodbye.

He picks up his phone, turns it back on. Five missed calls, one voice mail and three texts.

He considers texting Toramaru, to take him back to headquarters one last time, and also considers taking a cab. These are both things he would have done before, but today he feels like walking instead.

Ishido Shuuji is no more.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a convo I had with a friend. Grateful for my beta <3 and for Lady Gaga's whole discography (which was great background music to this).


End file.
